


Put Me Down

by AzureTiger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Avengers Family, Domestic Avengers, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureTiger/pseuds/AzureTiger
Summary: Stevedoesn’tlike to be carried.Five times Thor carried him against his will, and one time he wanted it.Stevedidn’tlike to be carried.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers/Thor
Comments: 19
Kudos: 298
Collections: Bend Over Rogers





	Put Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, hope you are doing well, and not too bored!  
> As I work on my next long project, I thought I do something in between, for fun and for practice. I wanted to play with some themes and see where they take me, so I can be sure to head in the right direction with my longer story. Emotional plot is a lot harder for me to direct than physical events, because they can take unexpected turns and seriously change the layout of the whole story. This smaller fic is of course for fun, but as always I look forward to your feedback! Feel free to comment on anything, really. I always welcome your thoughts, and take great pleasure in reading them.
> 
> Enjoy!

1: First Offense 

Another fight over and done with. Steve sheds his uniform and trudges to the shower to scrub himself clean. He’s tired. _Really_ tired. Scrubbing today consists of leaning against the ceramic and letting the scalding water pelt his back. He can’t find the energy to pick up a cloth or soap. His muscles won’t ache for long, at least. His bruises won’t even last till morning. 

The battle isn’t what’s tired him, even though it lasted for hours. To be honest, he’s not entirely sure what. Maybe he’s just a little lost. Depressed. It happens. He gets spells of sadness, and he just has to tough through it until it ebbs. 

Steve catches his eyelids drooping and quickly shuts off the water before he falls asleep and topples. That would be beyond embarrassing. There would surely be questions, because JARVIS would probably snitch. Steve doesn’t want that. He just wants to be left alone. Despite that familiar desire to curl up in bed and lay there alone until he feels better, he knows he should go be part of post-battle revels. He’s the leader, on and off the battlefield, which means he needs to show his face and support his team even when they aren’t fighting. Besides... maybe he enjoys it just a little. A good game of cards would make him feel better, and he’s hungry. He knows Tony will keep the food coming until all of them are stuffed. 

He knows his friends will tease him, but he picks a grey flannel shirt and some jeans to wear. It’s little comforts like these that make him feel a bit more at home, like there’s a piece of him still inside this broad chest. Maybe as he gets more comfortable, he’ll update his wardrobe, but this is a comfortable shirt, both on his body and for his heart. 

Steve gives his hair one last rub with the towel, and leaves his room to find the others. They're all gathered in the common area, laughing and spreading out food that Tony’s just brought up. Already, Clint’s pulling the lid off a pizza and sliding the whole thing Thor’s way. The demigod happily forgoes a plate and marches to the ring of couches, joining Natasha as she shuffles a deck of cards. He’s wearing a big burnt-orange shirt and brown cut-offs, his bare feet smacking on the linoleum. He leans back and starts to eat his pizza with a cheerful grin on his face, cheese sticking in his beard and his lips glistening with sauce. Steve’s not sure he’s ever met someone so cheerful about pretty much everything. Thor’s pretty tough to faze, and seemingly easy to please. Give the guy some pizza (or most food, really), and he’s happy. Steve wishes he could be that relaxed. 

It’s a little contagious, though. Once his plate is piled with food, Steve doesn’t think too much hurrying over to claim the seat beside the demigod. The sheer proximity will help. That’s all he wants, to be near someone in a good mood. That will help him shake off this growing cloud of depression. He smiled a little, picking over his food while the others join. Most of the team look pretty worn out, even Bruce who made sure everyone got their scrapes seen to, since there was no need for the Hulk today. That’s always a relief. Poor Bruce always looks drained if he’s had to let out the Other Guy, usually weary and quiet, but still joining in with the games. 

“Tony! Will there be coffee?” Thor asks boisterously as he carefully chooses his card with his only two fingers not covered in pizza sauce. He plays it with a flourish and goes back to his pizza. 

“Got a pot on the go, big guy,” Tony assures, kicking up his feet and watching as Bruce deliberates over his hand. 

Steve’s never seen someone so happy about coffee, or any other type of drink. He leans back against the sofa arm and draws up one leg so he can rest his plate against it, and hide his cards against his thigh. From here, he can see Thor’s posture better. While Natasha is clearly watching everyone around the table, keeping track of what’s going on, Thor is more deceptive about how alert he is. Actually, deceptive is the wrong word, because it implies intent, and Steve doesn’t think Thor is trying to be sneaky and hide his watchful stare behind his carefree demeanor. Thor’s watching, though, and closely. The others don’t seem to notice, but Steve does. He’s lost in it, how subtly the demigod can flick his eyes around the happenings of the game while still maintaining that casual posture, his body loose in his Asgardian clothes. It’s soothing. 

“Your go, Rogers,” Clint pats his arm. 

Steve snaps his eyes down to his cards and straightens. He’s not been paying attention, but with his perfect memory he can’t forget what’s already happened. He knows that Thor’s been hoarding clubs, so he picks up the seven of clubs sitting on the table and exchanges it for the ace of hearts in his hand. 

“I win!” Thor swipes the card and lays out his hand. He’s got seven hearts in a row. He’s been taking clubs, and passing them on, surreptitiously swapping them for hearts instead. The thunder god triumphantly lays down his empty pizza box and throws up his hand, sucking the fingers on his other hand clean. 

“Drinks!” Tony stands up to fetch the brewed coffee and a tray of mugs. 

Steve nudges Thor’s hip with his foot and gives him a proud smile and a thumbs-up. Thor grins back, wiping his hands on a napkin and wiggling them with anticipation as Clint hands him another pizza. 

They eat and drink into the night. Steve cleans off his plate plus two more, all while the games continue. Victory is mostly held by Natasha and Thor, and the odd one Bruce manages to slip in. Steve usually wins a few games himself, but not tonight. Tonight he’s too tired, and perfectly content to pay attention just enough to participate, but mostly watch his friends enjoy themselves. It’s nice, all six of them here together. His eyelids are drooping long before the night is through. He can hear Thor asking for a refill, and Tony going to brew a second pot of coffee. He can hear Clint yelling that it’s not fair, he was _one card away_ from winning, and that they should play Call of Duty for a bit. Natasha is accepting his challenge, and Thor is proclaiming his agreement that they should play video games. The weight at the other end of the couch shifts while everyone rearranges themselves. 

The whole couch moves. Steve cracks his eye open, but Thor’s only shifted it enough that it faces the TV. The demigod helps move the other couches too, then he’s back in his spot, his weight settling into the cushions by Steve’s feet. 

Steve falls asleep to the loading screen music, and the clicking of controllers as Clint hands them out. Something warm settles around his shoulders, probably a blanket. The sounds of his friends enjoying themselves send him off into a peaceful rest. 

\-- 

It’s dark when he wakes. Steve cracks open his eyes and looks around. Everything is quiet. He shifts, rolling over to his other side. Through the crack in the curtains he can see a few stars dusted in the dark sky, a soft glow of early morning rising under the city. He’s in bed, the duvet tucked around his shoulders. Steve frowns and fumbles for his nightstand, finding his phone and turning on the screen. Once his eyes adjust, he can read the time: 5 am. He slept _long,_ longer than he’s slept in a while. With the serum, he hardly needs it, but this time he can feel that he did, because he feels amazing. New. 

Steve folds back the covers and slides out his feet. He’s dressed in a pair of sweats, but he doesn’t remember changing, or even coming to bed in the first place. _I must have been really tired, huh..._

No, he _really_ doesn’t remember walking here. Surely he’d have some recollection of it, even if it was hazy enough to be a dream. 

Steve shakes his head and puts on a shirt. He feels good, and it’s past when he usually gets up for his morning exercising. It’s a nice day for a run, and it’ll help him keep this high he feels in his chest. Spending time with everyone last night has done him good. 

It’s bothering him how he got from the couch to his bed, though. He wasn’t drunk. Thor hadn’t even offered him any Asgardian liquor last night. The only drinks passed around were coffee and water and the odd glass of juice. Steve can’t get it out of his head now that his thoughts are locked on it. He starts his tenth lap and speeds up, deciding it’s not worth deliberating over. 

\---

2: Second Offense 

Routine is good. He’s found it with this team, where everyone works together. Especially in battle. This is what brought them together, after all. They start their usual lock down of the area, helping police bar off streets and guide people beyond the perimeter. Their fliers take to the sky, Tony depositing Clint on a high building with plenty of other buildings nearby so he has room to move around if he needs to. The archer keeps his eye out, mapping the carnage from above. Tony flies around taking care of strays or helping their grounded team members, and Thor lights up the sky, drawing the majority of the fight to himself with a welcoming roar. Steve runs with Natasha, helping heard people to safety, battling enemies that get in their way. Bruce waits in the jet, ready to treat any injuries that are brought back, or let loose the Hulk if the fight is too much for the five of them to manage alone.

It works. It’s a perfect system, everyone where they need to be and slipping into formation without a hitch or a gap. They can change it up when they need to, divert from their usual roles to help others, or to account for new variables presented by the enemy at hand. But today, there is no need.

It’s robots today. Steve wonders why the market value of New York hasn’t plummeted by now as he hauls a collapsed and smoking awning from in front of a door. Natasha rushes inside to help the trapped people get free, and Steve guards, watching closely for enemies with his shield raised. The enemies come, but he’s ready. Robots are no match for him, even less-so than humans, relying solely on algorithms that fall short against instinct. Then again, robots can’t feel pain, can’t gauge when a fight is lost or feel fear. There’s a chance JARVIS has instincts, but whatever AI is installed in these enemies definitely doesn’t. Regardless, a computer could never have the instincts of Captain America. 

Steve attacks, throwing his shield and smashing up two bots with the throw. Machines have no perseverance. Sever the right cable, and they die. Steve puts his fist right through the screen of the floating drone-like robot, flinging his arm around and throwing it into its companion. Mechanical arms whip out, but Steve blocks them with his shield, then snaps them off and kills that bot too. The last of the little squadron flies at him, and he jumps, twisting to avoid the reaching arms and kicking a straight path into it. It falls in a heap of crumpled metal, sparking and wheezing. 

The people are out. Natasha guides them around the block to the line of police cars, Steve guarding the group. The civilians are safe. 

“There’s a group stuck in the fiftieth floor of the hotel,” Natasha holds a finger to her earpiece and points into the city. Steve can see it. He nods and leans forward to run, but Natasha grabs his arm and pulls a police motorcycle away just as another swarm of officers arrive. Before the man can protest, she’s taken the keys from him. Steve slides on behind her, shield raised and ready to protect them. She drives expertly through the carnage, weaving through the streets. He could have run faster, but her driving skill might be more efficient than his own maneuverability on-foot. Hard to say. Maybe he’ll ask her to race when they get back, and while this part of the city is still sectioned off from regular traffic. 

The street around the hotel is decimated, bits of concrete and rebar protruding. A street lamp has been knocked over, leaning into the window its smashed. There’s glass and rubble everywhere. Steve stares high, high up and strains his heightened senses. He can hear screaming and the clicking of metallic components. He needs to get up there, and there’s no time to wait for Natasha to keep up. He’s too much faster than her, and faster than an elevator. He runs, leaping up the stairs with his long legs and strong thighs. Fifty floors for a super-soldier is a jog in the park. 

Steve destroys the stairwell door on his way up, blasting right through it with his momentum behind his shield. It flies off, and he slides to a halt, looking around. Tick, tick. Five drones turn to stare at him with their limbs waving like tentacles. Their blank faces are somehow laughing while their displays play pre-recorded screams. They turn back and float out the window. Tick, tick, tick. 

Steve looks around. No civilians. “Anybody here?” he yells, shoving aside a desk. The expansive, luxury hotel room is empty. 

Tick, tick, tick. 

Boom. 

There’s a bomb on the floor, by the bed, and it goes off. Steve throws up his shield, and it’s all he can do. He’s flying out of the already-smashed window and into open air, his shield whipped off his arm and a ball of fire licking at his boots. Natasha screams over their comms as he falls. He’ll survive the fall, he knows it. He can survive a fifty-floor drop. The outcome would be a bit better if his shield hadn’t been flung away in the blast, though. Steve flails, trying to right himself and spread out his body to slow his fall. He catches a glimpse below, and his eyes widen. He’s going to hit all that glass and rebar, that cracked and ragged concrete. He’s going to hit that lamp post. 

He doesn’t. Natasha’s been screaming for help, and a red shape flies through the air and snatches him from his descent. At first he thinks it’s Iron Man - but it’s Thor’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him in the crook of his arm. They’re flying by the weight of Thor’s hammer, rising from the rescuing swoop, then dropping out of the air again. Thor lands on the cement, cracking it with his fall. He sets down his hammer, and Steve hangs in Thor’s grip for a moment or two, catching his breath. Once he comes back to himself and recovers, he quickly shoves free of the thunder god’s hold, setting his feet on the ground and staggering. He doesn’t like to be carried, certainly not like _that_ , and though there was hardly time for deliberation over the hold position, it’s still sent a jolt of annoyance through him. He doesn’t need to be carried. He’ll never need to be carried in his life, never again. He’s big, and strong, and capable- 

Thor’s arm is held a fraction of an inch away from his body, as if about to reach out to steady his friend. Steve swallows his guilt. “Thanks,” he nods. Maybe Thor saved his life. The serum is amazing, no doubt about it, but it’d have been a close call for sure. A long recovery (long for him, at least), and a painful one, if he was lucky. 

Thor gives him a nod and a quick scan before picking up his hammer. He looks like he wants to say something, but shuts his mouth and spins Mjolnir, shooting back toward the clouds, and back into battle. 

Natasha jogs over, his shield in her arms. “Steve,” she breathes, looking him over. 

He’s fine. Singed, but fine. Maybe a bit rattled, too... He shouldn’t be, not by the thing that’s rattling him. He feels ashamed to be annoyed at such a thing, because Thor hadn’t meant anything by it, and should only receive thanks for his quick save. “Let’s go,” Steve grinds out, taking his shield from her and turning away. There’s still plenty more fighting left. 

\-- 

The serum isn’t infallible. Sometimes it feels that way, to him. In comparison to how he was before it, at least. It’s easy to throw away everything, to throw himself into battle without a care for himself. He will always heal, and not everyone can. He can heal so completely, that it’s worth placing himself in the line of fire to protect more vulnerable civilians, other teammates. He doesn’t need help, doesn’t need care, doesn’t need the shoulder of anyone else to lean on. 

_“Shame you’re not as strong as you are stupid or you’d be invisible,”_ Bucky used to say to him. Steve snorts to himself and throws his uniform in a corner, sitting heavily on his bed. It’s not a big deal, what happened, so why does he feel so... vulnerable? So violated? Thor did him a favor, rescued him. There’s no shame in needing rescuing from a fall of that height. Nobody would snub Captain America for that, or think less of him. 

He's not entirely sure what he’s feeling. Steve sighs and flops backward on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The serum enhanced everything, including his need to be self-sufficient. Asking for help is a hundred times harder than before, and it had been damn near impossible then. With a pit of dread in his stomach, he realizes Natasha had called, but he hadn’t. Not even as a reflex. He hadn’t been scared at all, and his body hadn’t even panicked for him. It _should_ have. Some part of him should have kicked in and yelled for help. 

_I’d have been fine._ By all odds, he probably would have been, eventually. His mind knows that. 

“Captain Rogers. The team is requesting your presence for food and games,” JARVIS butts in. 

Steve swallows and thinks. Does he want to go...? He still feels vulnerable, and they’ll see. He doesn’t want them to think the fall scared him, because it hasn’t, but he doesn’t want to answer their questions either. “Tell them I’m showering,” he offers. 

“Then what?” The shower will end. Computers know about sequentially. 

“Then... that I’m tired, and I went to bed,” Steve finishes, working his socks off with his feet. That’s true enough. He strips and rolls under the covers, forgoing his shower and going right to sleep instead. 

\---

3: Third Offense 

SHIELD needs him. Steve knows it, Fury knows it, everyone knows it. They’ve made due without him for years, of course, but now he can do for them what used to take a whole group of men and months of planning to sneak in secret agents and ensure nobody got hurt. Steve can charge right in on many of those missions, and they're hooked on him now. Addicted to his strength and skill and how easy he renders some of those tougher missions. 

He takes down boats, bunkers, drug rings buried overseas. He brings back hostages, and fights with his friends in New York in between. He stays in the Tower while he’s there, and doesn’t sleep much while he’s out. 

He never meant to get to this place, but as much as SHIELD’s become addicted to him, he’s become addicted to them, too. The work they give him keeps him busy and out of his own head. It started off just as a duty thing. One mission here and there. They know he can’t turn down the need to protect people. That’s what he was made for, _why_ and _how_ he was made. Fury knows that. Fury gets what he wants, that perfect soldier to steal back captured allies from the claws of the enemy. Who that enemy is, he rarely asks. He doesn’t need to know. One mission a month quickly led to two, then to three, then to one every week. Sometimes two, depending how long they are. 

When he comes back, he doesn’t have much time to hang out with his friends. There are reports to write, and hours of sleep to catch up on. Steve recharges where he can, and there’s no time left for social gatherings. He’s starved himself of it, tricked himself into believing he doesn’t need it to the point that he avoids it. 

Fury is calling. Steve buckles up his uniform and snaps his shield to his back, leaving his room. He’s at the point now where he needs so little sleep to function, relative to what he needed before, even with the serum. The face staring back at him in the mirror is familiar, even though it shouldn’t be with how blank his eyes are becoming. 

The routine has eaten him up, and he needs someone to force him free of the jaws. He’s never be able to pry himself free. It’s a good thing, then, that Natasha is waiting for him by the door to his suite. She joins him as he starts to stride out, jogging to keep up. “Steve, you can’t keep doing this,” she contests. 

“What? My job?” he keeps his eyes focused on the corridor ahead, letting the suit fill him with confidence and power. He’s the Captain. He can handle this. 

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” she bites back. “This is my job too. And Clint’s. Don’t give me that serum shit. This ends here.” 

She can’t stop him. “What am I supposed to do, turn Fury down?” He glances at her, challenging. There’s fear in her eyes. Fear and worry. He resents it before he can be touched by it. 

“This time, yes,” she growls. “You don’t go alone, at least. Not today. This mission is too dangerous.” 

“For you,” he angles his head and keeps walking. Too dangerous for Clint, for any of Fury’s minions. 

Natasha grabs his arm, but she can’t slow him. “Listen to me, Rogers, that’s a suicide mission. I won’t watch you come back in med-evac, or worse, a body bag.” 

This bust is important, just off the coast of Canada. Some drug smugglers have fled from the States, down to South America, then back up. The authorities have been chasing them, but the smugglers have finally found themselves some good hostages, and the chase has stopped. People are going to get hurt real soon, and so long as that’s just him, that’s fine. None of the scars from his conquests have lasted. He’s got no proof of the times he’s risked his life and safety, and that’s alright. That’s the point. 

Natasha lets go of his arm, and he leaves her in the hallway. Too preoccupied in meeting Fury up by the helipad to be suspicious about her acquiescence, he gives it no thought. He barely turns the corner before Clint appears, sidling up beside him. 

“Hey big guy, you know you don’t have to do this, right?” 

_Don’t you know that I do?_ Steve sets his jaw, and gives the archer no remark. There is nothing to say. He walks a bit faster. 

Clint somehow manages to make a jog look like casual lumbering. “You could bring help, you know. Few guys to go in, make sure the entrances are secured... watch your back and all that. You know, team stuff.” 

Steve clenches his jaw harder. They just don’t get it. “People could get hurt, Barton.” 

“Yeah, you.” Clint lets his frustration through, his stride sharpening. 

Steve steps into the elevator and shuts the door, leaving Clint behind. The archer makes no attempt to follow. 

Tony and Bruce are on either side, flanking him. Steve bristles. This needs to stop. They don’t own him. He opens his mouth. 

Tony is faster. “Whatever the spy twins said, I’m agreeing with,” he remarked. “Even if Barton’s got questionable taste in fashion and movies and, well, everything, he’s at least got the sense not to run into a death trap.” 

“This is ridiculous, Steve,” Bruce calmly remarks. He’s not one for hyperbole, so the words he uses, he means. 

Steve has no words for them, either. The elevator doors ding softly, and he steps out. 

“If you wake up in a hospital I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so’!” Tony calls after him. “I’ll write it on your gravestone!” 

The scientists leave him be. Steve walks into the room, past the bar, and toward the glass doors. He can see Fury waiting by the jet for him, but the door is blocked. Thor stands there in his leather under-armor, mighty arms crossed over his chest, muscles rigid. His posture says ‘try me’. 

_Gladly._ Thor will listen to him. Thor is a prince, but he always obeys Steve on the battlefield. They have a mutual respect that runs deeper than words, a bond shared by warriors. Steve walks right up to the thunder god and holds his ground, looking those extra couple of inches up into Thor’s electric blue eyes. “Move.” He orders. 

Thor does not move. His eyebrow leaps, and he holds his ground. “No.” 

“I won’t say it again.” 

“Then don’t,” Thor replies easily, letting his arms unfold and dangle by his sides. Steve’s too smart to miss that the demigod is preparing himself. 

In response, Steve prepares to grab his shield. “I have a job to do,” he tries, holding back the pleading tone from his voice. Fury is watching impatiently. “People need me.” 

“They need more than just you,” Thor returns, spreading his feet a little, stern but not unkind. “They need a team, just like _you_ need a team.” 

“One man is better,” Steve grits back. “Element of surprise.” 

Thor only shakes his head. The god has already made up his mind, and will not be convinced otherwise. That much is plain as day. “Fury must truly have you leashed that even a strategist as brilliant as yourself cannot see the advantage of a team in this situation.” 

Steve feels a growl rising in his throat. How _dare_ he. The audacity. He reaches for his shield, but Thor is moving faster than he could hope to match, and grabbing his wrist, then the other, and holding his arms prisoner, his expression darkening. Steve grits his teeth and turns his hips, jamming a heavy kick into the demigod’s stomach. Thor shifts a bit, but the boot bounces off his clenched and armored abs and barely does a thing. It certainly doesn’t loosen his grip, which Steve’s can’t even wiggle within. He can’t make Thor budge at all. 

Thor is stronger, but he’d never truly understood how much stronger he is than the super-soldier. That revelation sends a rush of emotions through him. Relief, perhaps...? Something else. It doesn’t matter, because it’s being swamped by wild rage. He struggles fruitlessly, trying to kick, flailing to free himself. In a proper fight he’d be more thoughtful and precise about his attacks, but right now he’s too angry to think, too desperate. They won’t take this from him. They _won’t_ -! 

Thor is so calmly subduing him, adjusting his grip and turning Steve in a sort-of barrel roll so the soldier is facing the other way. He knocks the shield to the floor with his knee and pulls Steve into him, holding the soldier's arms crossed over his chest. Steve struggles indignantly, trying to free his wrists, get his foot around Thor’s ankle, _something,_ but Thor is too solid, has him so perfectly restrained. 

“Let go of me,” Steve barks. 

“Calm yourself,” Thor orders sharply, and it’s the most distressed the demigod has ever sounded. There are laces of anger and desperation in the order, and a taste of fear just like the others. “Steven, no more.” 

“This is my choice,” Steve keeps wrestling, even though he knows he’s only wasting strength. 

“Not a choice you have made in the right mind,” Thor argues. “Not the choice of the wise warrior I know you are. You will not go today, Steven. If you must, then tomorrow, and with the rest of us. That is final.” 

Steve squirms, but Thor is lifting him off his feet and adjusting his grip, slinging the soldier over his shoulder and walking to the elevator unburdened regardless of Steve’s size and exuberant reluctance. “Put me down,” he growls. “Thor, _now_ -!” 

“No,” Thor growls right back this time, and that alone gives Steve pause. The demigod holds on tightly, removing all chance of escape, and pressing the elevator button. Steve looks up and watches Fury stare through the glass with confusion, the shield still resting on the floor by the locked door. The elevator doors slide shut. There’s nowhere for him to run now, but Thor doesn’t set him down, carrying him all the way to the common area. 

Everyone is waiting there. They’d known. Thor was the last resort, and they’re all gathered now, watching their friend be carried unceremoniously into the living area. 

Thor lets go, and Steve pushes away, falling onto the sofa. He grits his teeth, flaming with shame and anger. Thor stands over him, ready to grab him again if he tries to flee. 

“This stops here,” Natasha appears by the god. “Right here, Steve. This isn’t work, this is self-destruction, and everyone here knows that. Including you, somewhere in that thick skull of yours.” 

“We should have stopped this long ago,” Thor admits, and there’s pain in his softening voice. 

Steve looks up at his friends all gathered around the couch, hanging back. They look ready to sprint off and block entrances. The looks in their eyes bring clarity to the situation, how utterly crazy he’s just acted. How crazy he’s been acting for months. Too ashamed to look at his friends, he heaves a broken sigh and leans forward, covering his face with his hands. The mistake he's made is too large to simply ignore. 

A large, warm hand envelops his shoulder, squeezing it tightly, but not restrictively. Steve can confidently lean into the grip, free to be weak. Little choice he has now... He’s let himself slip far enough that his friends had to physically force him to stop, and that hits him right in his chest, dislodging his barriers and bringing overwhelming grief free. How the fuck has he let himself get here? 

“I’m sorry,” he moans. 

“It’s alright,” Thor replies gently, deft fingers loosening the straps of his shield harness. A hand takes his arm and folds it down so the strap can come off, and Steve doesn’t even try to resist. He’s exhausted, and now that Thor is there getting his suit off for him, he can’t summon the strength to help. The suit takes a bit of work to get off, but Thor handles it, finding all the hidden clasps without trouble. Steve shrugs off the top part, and a shirt appears from nowhere. A pair of sweats are dropped on his head from behind the second the shirt is on. Tony is in the corner on his phone, ending a call with Fury with an abrupt ‘Good _bye’_ , and a flourish of his finger as he hangs up. Steve smiles a little and wipes his eyes. Thor sits beside him, draping a muscle-roped arm across his shoulders and holding him close. It’s no longer a restraining grip, but a comforting one. Once again, Steve leans into it. 

Natasha gets off his boots and belt and pants, working the sweats up his legs. Clint moves around the couch to the TV, pulling out DVD cases and rifling through them. Bruce appears with some blankets and pillows, and Tony starts to list off food orders to JARVIS. 

It’s still humiliating that Thor carried him here, thrashing like a child having a tantrum, and his friends all saw. His friends had planned for him to resist, had set Thor up last with the very intent of man-handling him off of this suicide mission. Therefore, it’s really too late to pull away. Not that he can find it within himself to pull away from Thor’s soft grip. Instead, he leans into it further still, and Thor squeezes him in the hug, spreading one of the blankets across them. How long has it been since they all hung out like this...? Too long, that’s for sure. It feels too good. It feels familiar, even though the others have never been quite this protective. Thor has never pulled him close like this. Steve smiles a little and settles into the pillow that the god pushes between his shoulder and the soldier’s head. He’s really, really tired.... 

Halfway through an _Indiana Jones_ movie, he falls asleep. Thor’s thumb rubs his shoulder, as it has been for an hour. The gesture welcomes him to rest like he hasn’t let himself rest for months. When he wakes up, he’s in his room, tucked into the covers. The clock reads three pm. A few extra hours have done him good. He feels a lot better, clear-headed and much more aware. Steve gets up, smoothing his rumpled clothes and stumbling out of his room, and out of his suite. 

Thor, Tony, and Bruce are sitting around the dining table in the common area, playing a game of cards. They stop and look up as Steve appears. Thor sets down his cards and stands up. “Steve.” 

“Hey,” Steve scratches his head, wandering over to the table. Tony nudges the unfinished box of pizza toward him, and he takes a piece. He’s really hungry. In all this mess, has he forgotten to eat as well...? “Miss much?” he asks, looking between his friends’ worried faces. Thor drags out another chair with his foot and sits in his own, Steve sitting beside him. 

Tony shrugs. “Not much. Nat and Clint took a team up North. They'll be back in a few days.” 

Steve opens his mouth in protest, but quickly shuts it, chewing on his food before his tongue can form protests. He hadn’t wanted anyone else to go, to put themselves at risk... 

“It is well, my friend,” Thor pats his shoulder and pushes his plate under the soldier, sliding a couple of pizza slices onto it. “Their plan is good.” 

“I should have gone...” Steve mutters. 

“Given how long you slept, I’d say otherwise,” Tony replies, leaning back victoriously in his chair. 

“It’s only three,” Steve frowns. Late, yes, but only a few hours away from when he fell asleep. 

“Three the next day,” Bruce corrected. “You slept through all of yesterday. Steve, you’ve been asleep for thirty hours.” 

Oh. Steve swallows, feeling the blood drain from his face. Thor squeezes his shoulder again. 

He eats, and his friends resume their card game, offering to deal him in. He shakes his head and watches for a while. When they finish, they linger, Tony and Bruce finally wandering off to get some work done, but Thor staying. He’s unusually solemn, pressed up close as he walks Steve back to his room. 

“I’m not gonna run off,” Steve mutters, glancing up as he walks into his suite. “Don’t have to escort me...” 

“I don’t mean to crowd you, I apologize,” Thor hangs back, shutting the door behind them. He doesn’t leave, though, watching from a respectful distance. “I am only concerned for you.” 

_I'm fine._ He is not, relatively. Steve clenches his jaw but forces it to relax, sitting heavily on the couch in the sitting room and resting his head in his hands. A second later, Thor’s weight settles beside him, a hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades. A moment or two more, and it rubs up and down, slowly. It's been far too long since anyone touched him so tenderly, and the gesture is more than welcome, though he lacks the strength to refuse it anyway.

Steve swallows as Thor calmly rubs out an honest admission. “I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I shouldn’t have tried to fight you like that. I don’t know what got into me.” 

“You are not to blame,” Thor replies warmly. “We let you slip, when we should have stopped you the moment we realized that you were. The duty of a team is protect all their members, even their leader, and we have failed.” 

“Still here, aren’t I?” Steve pulls back his hand and looks up at Thor. “You didn’t fail. I’m sorry I made it hard for you.” 

“We will do better,” Thor nods. “I would say next time, but there will not be a ‘next time’. We won’t let that happen again. We care for you, as you care for each of us.” 

Steve swallows. “Thank you,” he whispers. He can’t trust himself, but he can trust his friends. They’ll protect him from ending up there again. 

Thor smiles at him. “What troubles you?” he asks gently, pausing his rubbing to lay his solid, unwavering hand in the middle of Steve's back. 

Steve chuckles dryly and rests his head back in his hands. “Not sure...” he admits. “Got into a rhythm I guess... Then it just got worse and worse, and I could never say no... and Fury didn’t stop me. He just gave me more, and I thought I could take it.” 

“And it became your ritual,” Thor nods solemnly. 

Steve huffs his affirmation, leaning his cheek in his hand and looking over. “Work’s always kinda been my crutch.” It shouldn’t be. He should be trusting his friends to hold him up. They’ve just proven they’ll be there for him, no matter how adamantly he denies his need for their support.

“A crutch for what?” Thor asks. 

Steve shrugs noncommittally, unsure how to explain himself. “Sometimes I just feel kinda... lost. Work’s the only thing that feels familiar. And it feels good. It’s where I belong.” 

“You belong here,” Thor smiles softly, sliding his hand over and drawing Steve slowly into him by the shoulder. He’s the only one strong enough to force the embrace, though Steve doesn’t resist and lets himself be pulled. 

“I know,” Steve smiles back, leaning into the hug. He needs it. Thor gives good hugs. “Just need you guys to remind me sometimes, that’s all.” 

“Remind you we will,” Thor proclaims happily with a strong squeeze. “Come. Perhaps a game? We may able to beat Stark and the good doctor at Clint’s games if we work together.” 

Steve grins and nods, getting up to follow. 

Natasha and Clint are back by the end of the week. The mission was a success, all the prisoners rescued, and the agents home safe. Steve is there to greet his two friends, a little bashful. They say nothing of his outbreak, and merely express joy that they’re back, and everyone is clustered together in the living area. They watch movies, eat lots of food, and have a good time like they always do. Steve feels normal, and that’s a good thing. This is his normal now. 

\---

4: Fourth Offense 

It’s been raining a lot lately. Steve likes the rain, because it dampens all other sounds and freshens the air, but today there’s a cold wind accompanying it, and it sends chills through his body. His body generates more heat than a normal person, so the cold shouldn’t physically affect him as easily. Usually it doesn’t, but today it does. There are up and downs, he supposes. 

He ends his run early, climbing a sopping mess up to his room and peeling his shirt off his body. He needs to get warm, _right now._ Steve kicks off his shoes and struggles out of his soaked pants, climbing under the covers and wrapping them around himself, shivering. 

It’s not often, but sometimes little things remind him of the Valkyrie. Today, that would be cold water seeping through his skin and into his bones. The weather wasn’t nearly cold enough, but his legs feel numb. Steve clutches the covers even tighter, pulling them over his head to make himself a warm cocoon. Nothing is working. The chill just won’t shake. Steve perseveres, and eventually falls asleep. 

When he wakes up he’s sweating, but he’s still not warm. Shaking almost too badly to function, he scrambles out of bed and staggers to the bathroom. He trips, falls, scrambles up again in frantic need. He needs to get warm any way he can, get away from this dream. Steve fumbles for the shower tap and turns it on, pulling the pin and rolling right into the tub. He yelps as the water blasts down cold, curling tightly in on himself and pushing his face into the hard fiberglass. The water quickly heats, and soon the bathroom is full of steam. Steve huddles in a ball and lets the water pelt him, hoping it will permeate his nightmare. 

It doesn’t, though it does help warm him up a bit. Steve shivers weakly, twisting the shower curtain in his hands, lost for what to do now. He swallows roughly. Someone is calling to him, but he can’t hear a word they’re saying. They’ll go away if he just ignores them. 

A little while later, and he can hear doors opening. “Steven?” A deep voice with power calls out, a voice he respects. Still, he doesn’t want anyone to find him here. He just wants to be alone. “Steve, are you alright?” 

Steve holds his breath, but it doesn’t matter, because the running water gives away his hiding place. Thor nudges the door open and hurries in, kneeling by the tub, totally unbothered by the puddles of water on the floor. He pushes aside the curtain and stares down, eyebrows upturned. Steve stares up at his friend, pushing his shoulders against the back of the tub. 

“Steven...” Thor reaches for the tap. 

“N-no,” Steve coughs urgently. “No!” 

“You cannot stay in here,” Thor gently scolds, reaching instead for the soldier. Steve shies away and shakes his head, but he can’t get away from the hand. It touches his shoulder. “Steven, come on.” 

Steve pushes at the hand, trying to dislodge it. He doesn’t want to be seen. He just wants to be alone, and be warm. Thor’s going to take away both of those if he shuts off the water and stays. Steve fights back defensively, trying to push Thor off him, but the demigod ignores him, letting go only so he can shut off the water. 

“At ease,” Thor whispers, pulling a towel off the rack and wrapping it around Steve’s bare shoulders. He pushes the edges into the soldier’s hands. Steve grips the cloth, and now that his hands are occupied, Thor picks him up. It surprises him too much for him to squirm, that the god just reaches in and scoops him out. 

_Oh... warm._ Steve turns his head into Thor’s shoulder, his shivering diminished as he enjoys the body heat soaking across their connection and into him. They’re all the way out of the bathroom before he remembers to be angry. “Put me down,” he rasps. “Thor.” 

Thor will put him down in his own time, smiling down at him and shaking his head. He carries Steve to his bed and lays him on the rumpled sheets. “I think not,” he argues, climbing onto the bed and leaning back on the pillows. Then he scoops Steve back up and sets him in his lap, drawing the blankets around both of them. Steve is still soaked, and Thor is damp, but the demigod doesn’t mind at all, rubbing the towel up and down Steve’s arm. The prince sinks back, and Steve leans into him, desperate for the warmth even though he wants to yell to be left alone. Ultimately, his body wins over his mind, seeking the heat Thor radiates. He nuzzles deeper, tucking in his head. Thor rubs his shoulder with one hand, and his knee with the other. “Rest,” he orders quietly. “Peace.” 

Steve falls asleep in Thor’s chest. He rests, and he does feel peace. 

He wakes up still in Thor’s lap, still wrapped in his friend's arms, but they’re no longer in Steve's room. They’re in Thor’s, and there are considerably more layers wrapped around him. He’s dry, and there’s soft fabric covering his naked body instead of the towel. _I'm naked._ Steve flushes and looks up. Thor is sitting there, dozing, still in his loose black shirt. His arm is firmly wrapped behind Steve’s back. 

“Thor,” Steve croaks, freeing his arm from the layers tucked snugly around him. He’s really comfortable, actually, and very warm. The chills have passed. How much of the day has he slept away...? 

Thor blinks his eyes open and looks down, giving a smile. “Hello,” he rubs with his hand. “Sleep well?” 

Steve nods and rubs his eyes. The blanket wrapped around him is not a blanket at all, but Thor’s cape, he realizes. It’s thick and warm, and surprisingly soft. He rubs it curiously with his fingers, admiring the Asgardian fabric. 

“I am glad to see the dream has released you,” Thor makes no move to get up, or remove Steve from his lap. “You were frantic. Do they plague you often?” 

“Not usually,” Steve replies quietly, wishing he had the self-respect to pull away, but he can’t. “Not like that, at least... Didn’t think it would. Just a bit of rain...” 

“The mind is an odd thing,” Thor agrees wisely. “Are you warm?” 

Steve nods again. He can’t lie. He could almost drift back to sleep right now... He fights it. “How’d you find me?” he asks. 

“Stark’s computer alerted me,” Thor squeezes. 

JARVIS. Steve often forgets there’s a computer watching him pretty much all the time. But he has to owe it to the AI, because he’d needed help he couldn’t have possibly asked for on his own. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “Sorry...” 

“Do not be sorry,” Thor retorts quickly, but as kind as ever. “We all have our demons.” 

That they do. One of Steve’s is his fear of being weak and useless, so the shame of what’s happened strikes hard. It’s not serious enough to draw him away from this moment, though. He sighs. “How long have I been asleep?” 

“A few hours,” Thor explains casually. His hand finds its way up and holds the soldier’s head, rubbing into his skull with careful fingers. “You may stay here as long as you like... But it is lunch time, so perhaps you’d like something to eat.” 

Steve is about to protest, opening his mouth to deny the help, but he doesn’t want to be alone. He feels vulnerable, and as much as he wishes Thor hadn’t ever seen this, he’s glad for the company, and it's too late to refuse it by now. He nods weakly. 

“Okay,” Thor bends down and kisses the top of his head in a show of affection beyond his usual friendly touches. Steve is completely silenced by it, unsure what to make of it. And Thor... just picks him up. There’s no scrambling with blankets, or adjustments made with grunts of effort. The god just folds back the covers and picks him off the bed as he climbs out. 

Steve jolts. “Down,” he grits out without thinking. He doesn’t need to be carried. “Thor.” He struggles with the cape still wrapped around him. 

Thor calmly sets him down, his gait unchanged even by Steve’s squirming. He sets the soldier on his feet and walks to his dresser to pick out a pair of jeans and a big shirt. It’s one of his own shirts, from Asgard. Steve takes the clothes and stands there, watching as Thor walks out of the bedroom and shuts the door. 

Steve sighs and lets the cape fall to the floor around his ankles, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on Thor’s jeans. The shirt is miraculously large. It’s been a while since he’s worn something so big. The fabric is soft on his skin, more pleasing than even the most luxurious of Earth fabrics. When he walks out of the room, he finds Thor in the kitchen, stirring something over a pot. Oddly enough, he hadn’t imagined the demigod would be much of a cook. It’s a strange sight, to see the god of thunder stirring with a wooden spoon. There's an open tin of rice pudding on the counter. Steve walks over and stands beside his friend, glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s late afternoon; he’s been moping for far too long. 

They both stare into the mixture for ages before Steve finally speaks. “Thor...” he swallows, and Thor looks up, giving him a soft smile and a welcoming raised eyebrow that begs him to speak. Steve looks away. “Thanks,” he mutters. 

“It is my pleasure,” Thor nods. “You are always welcome.” 

Steve smiles warmly, and tries not to feel too embarrassed about being carried like that. Through the tower halls, no doubt. But this won’t be a regular thing. This is just a once-off event. He won’t be needing carrying ever again. 

\---

5: Fifth, and Final Offense 

Unlucky. The building has fallen on him. His entire lower body is trapped under concrete and steel beams, crushing his hips. The ragged edge of cracked street is digging into his back when the spots clear from his vision and he can see properly. Steve groans and looks around. A calm blue sky shines down on him, clouds swimming in circles around him. His earpiece is buzzing with chatter. 

“-down! Cap’s down!” 

“Where! Direct me!” 

“I am closer, Stark! Finish the battle! Your lasers are more effective!” 

“Steve, are you there? Can you hear me?” Natasha addresses him directly. 

Steve pushes with his arms and gasps. “Here,” he chokes out, falling back again. His back throbs, and he can’t turn his head. He tries to sit again, reaching for the chunk of brick wall pushing on his pelvis. 

“Okay Steve, I need you to keep talking to me, okay? Are you hurt?” 

“Stuck,” Steve coughs, tasting dry-wall. “M’stuck.” He feels conscious enough, at least. Maybe his heart rate is a little fast, but it could be worse. 

“Breathe with me, alright? We’re coming. Thor’s on his way. I can see him.” 

A second later, Thor drops out of the sky a few feet away and hurries over, leaving behind his hammer and surveying the damage. He sinks to his knees and holds out his hands, looking up and down with intense worry. “Steven. I’ll get you out.” 

“Hang on!” Natasha orders. “Don’t move him until med-evac gets there. Leave everything where it is unless it’s killing him.” 

“I’m alright,” Steve starts to sit again, but Thor calmly pushes him down. 

“Lie still, my friend,” Thor orders, taking Steve's helmet and undoing it, sliding it off very carefully and pulling the soldier's head into his lap. Strong fingers stroke his hair smooth. 

It’s very soothing, more soothing than it should be. He’s fine, right? 

“We’ll need the helicopter,” Thor is saying into his earpiece. 

“Almost there,” Fury replies. 

They’ll get here, and they’ll see that he’s fine. Why doesn’t Thor just lift the rubble off him, and they can carry on? Steve shivers, and Thor’s hand rubs his forehead soothingly, his kind face swimming in twos and threes around him. “Eyes on me, Steven.” 

He’s fine. He can look at Thor as long as he needs to, even just to prove that he’s fine. 

Helicopter blades descending from above jolt him from his state of distant tranquility. Panic takes his heart. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to go to the hospital, to be poked and prodded and scanned. They’ll do tests, put needles in him, give him fluids, talk to him with kindness hiding clinical assessment behind it. Thor stills him again, dirty from battle but so gentle and protective, subtly prying the earpiece from the soldier’s ear. 

People rush over in a flurry of boots and it’s all too much. Fury is there, hovering back. Bruce runs by, pushing past the handful of EMTs to join Thor’s side. “It’s okay, Steve, we’re gonna get you back to the tower, okay?” 

He doesn’t need to go back. He’s fine. Steve worries the concrete with his hands, trying to sit again, to show everyone that this is just some misunderstanding, and he’s alright. He opens his mouth to proclaim his thoughts, but he’s really shaking now. 

“It’s alright, Steve,” Thor promises. “I will be here. But we need to bring you back to the tower to assess your injuries.” 

Is it that bad? Thor’s eyes say it is. Bruce’s eyes say so too, with even more conviction. The doctor gets up to talk to the EMTs, and a few seconds later a stretcher appears just within his peripheral vision. Thor is loosening the straps of Steve’s suit and pulling open the top, taking what Bruce hands him. It’s a plastic collar, which he calmly fits around Steve’s neck and does up the velcro fastener before any protests can be given. 

Oh, god. 

“One moment,” Thor gently sets Steve's head down and stands, lifting away the rubble only when he gets the approval from Bruce. With one smooth heave, he sets the chunk of building aside and starts to work off smaller pieces. Steve can’t see his legs from this vantage, but now that things are being moved he finally feels the pain. 

Thor is back, sliding his arms very carefully under Steve’s body and lifting him off the unforgiving ground. It hurts enough that he gasps in pain. Thor sets him quickly on the stretcher, and the backboard rested on top. With a flourish, he’s nudging the doctors back and taking off his cape, draping it across Steve’s body, hiding away the evidence. He takes the soldier’s hand and rests it over his belly, curling the fingers into the fabric and squeezing. “It truly will be well,” he promises with a smile. “I’m going to come with you, but you must stay calm. Can you do that?” 

Yes, yes he can. Steve swallows, tears pricking his eyes. Tears of frustration, confusion, and panic. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and he really doesn’t want these people to touch him. Thor, he trusts. Bruce too. But they won’t be able to fix him up by themselves. He’s scared. But he gives a very quiet, burdened ‘okay’ in reply. 

Thor lets the doctors close now, but he doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t move. Hands are all over him, strapping him down. Thor stays right where he is, calling his hammer into his hand but maintaining his grip and guiding the stretcher into the helicopter. He lifts it inside by himself and sits while the others secure it. They take off. Someone slides and oxygen mask over his face, and Steve can start to feel himself sliding. Shock is winning, and he’s too weakened by panic to cling to consciousness much longer. Thor has his hand though, and that’s all he needs, that strong grip over his, ensuring him that where his own strength fails, someone will be there to hold him up. 

\-- 

He wakes up aching, but the hand is still wrapped around his own so he wonders if they’re still in the helicopter. 

No, they aren’t. Everything is quiet, save for a beeping somewhere near his head, and the distant sound of feet in the hallway beyond. Steve blinks open his eyes. There’s an IV in his left arm, and Thor to his right, sat guard in the chair with both his hands wrapped around Steve’s and his head drooped a little as he dozes. Steve looks down at himself, glad to find the collar is gone and he can actually move his head. His back in particular is bothering him, but if he lies still it’s fine enough. There are blankets and Thor’s cape tucked around his body, so he can’t assess the damage. But he can see the urinary catheter tube leading under the covers, and he swallows with dread. 

Steve turns his head and moves his hand in Thor’s. “Hey,” he rasps, voice dry. He coughs, tasting dust and asphalt. 

Thor is awake in an instant, blinking once and turning to grab a cup. “Welcome back,” he smiles, handing it over. “How do you feel?” 

“Dizzy,” Steve squints and drinks, swallowing roughly. The second mouthful goes down better, and he feels more awake. “How long was I out?” 

“About a day,” Thor explains. He’s wearing clean clothes, but his hair could use a brush. It doesn’t look as if he’s moved from this spot. 

“Fight end okay?” 

“Tony finished off the last assailant mere moment after our departure,” Thor nods confidently, taking back the glass. Something hangs in the air. 

“How...” Does he dare ask? He’ll find out one way or another... What if he just goes back to sleep and wakes up when he’s healed, when the prodding is over? “How bad?” 

Thor doesn’t lie, at least. He’s perfected the balance between being honest and tactful, giving the facts without being harsh nor patronizing. “Your legs are broken,” he explains casually. “A beam fell across them, but caused only minor damage. Your hip suffered minor fractures too, though they will not take long to heal and require no interference. But your back...” 

The serum will fix him. Surgery will stick everything where it’s meant to go, and the serum will glue him all up until he’s perfect again. That’s what he reminds himself on a repeat. 

“Two vertebrae in your lower back are crushed,” Thor explains, his thumb rubbing across Steve’s hand. The demigod turns it over and pushes into the squishy parts of his palm. It’s very calming. “Doctor Banner explained that the surgery correctly aligned your back, but the wounds are delicate and will take time to heal. It may be a little while until you can walk. A week, perhaps two.” There's a wheelchair in the corner, waiting for him. 

At least a week off his feet. Steve can’t even feel his legs, let alone move them. If he could, he’d have tried to walk right now, prove that they’d all underestimated the serum, and that he's fine. 

“Bruce wants you here another day for observation, but then you are free to go back to your own room,” Thor offers softly. 

Steve nods mutely. This is fine. This is fine! Really, it is. He can handle it. He’ll be better soon anyway. Less than a month and he’ll be healed from paralysis. How miraculous is that? 

\-- 

He wishes it were more miraculous. For now, he can pretend his legs are fine, while he’s still trapped in bed and everything is hidden under blankets. When Thor gets up to help the others arrange chairs and lay out food, Steve clutches the prince's cape in place of his hand. It’s very comforting, even though he knows there’s nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. He just likes Thor’s touch. 

“Hey champ,” Tony grins, laying out pizza. He’s brought a lot, knowing how much Steve eats when the serum is in high gear. 

Steve smiles around at his friends as they pull up chairs and gather around his bed to eat. Food and drinks are passed around, and he enjoys it with them. They don’t make any comment about his injuries, don’t stare at his useless legs or ask about them. He really appreciates that. The sooner this blows over the better, and he doesn’t want a fuss. This is a paper-cut for him. 

This isn’t a fuss at all, but there’s no pretending that he can’t get out of bed by himself. Steve sleeps on a full stomach, and when he wakes up the next morning, Bruce and Thor are there to give the good news he’s being discharged. Bruce takes out the catheter and IV, and Thor approaches with some folded clothes he’s brought from his own room. 

Steve can’t really move his legs, even if some feeling has ebbed down his thighs and his back is tingling. He can feel enough to use his facilities, but not enough to walk. He’s too sore anyway, with those of his injuries he can feel. Thor’s help is needed as the demigod offers up the clothes and folds back the blankets, revealing the soldier’s bruised legs. They aren’t badly broken enough to need any kind of treatment, at least, but he can’t walk on them to aggravate them anyway. 

Thor slides on his pants, delicately lifting Steve’s hips off the bed to get them all the way up, so careful of the gauze-covered surgical marks and healing bones underneath. Steve can feel that his spine is swollen under the dressings. He bites his lips and unties his gown, letting it fall away from his body. The shirt at least he needs no help with, and Thor lets him put it on, walking over to the wheelchair and positioning it by the bed while the soldier does so. Steve stares at it. He really doesn’t want to be stuck in that for the next however-long until he can walk again. 

Too bad, he has no choice. Thor scoops him up and sets him carefully in the chair, positioning his feet on the rests. “Are you comfortable?” he asks quietly, and Steve nods, because this is as good as it will get. He doesn’t like any of this, but there are no other options. “It will not last,” Thor smiles widely. “This is only temporary.” 

“I know,” Steve mumbles, knowing he shouldn’t feel like this. 

“I’ll make you some lunch,” Thor offers, setting off down the corridor and into the elevator. The tower is empty, for which Steve is very grateful. He wants to be alone in this, alone from Thor, too. He wants to go to sleep and be well when he wakes up. Staring at his legs won’t make them move, but he tries. Nothing comes of it, of course. 

They’re here. Thor parks his wheelchair by his bed and gets to his knee, gently draping Steve’s arm over his shoulders and picking him up just as he always does: effortlessly. The covers are already folded back, the pillows arranged, and Thor lays him on the mattress with the utmost care, positioning his body with a sculptor's precision. Steve’s never seen him like this, so immaculate, his gestures worried. “You okay?” Steve asks with upturned eyebrows. 

Thor smiles mournfully and looks up when he’s done positioning Steve’s senseless legs on some pillows. “Worried for you,” he starts, holding up his hands in defense. “You gave me a scare, that is all. I wondered what I might find when you went down. I do not pity you, Steven, but I do wish none of this were necessary. I know you despise to depend on anyone like this.” 

Steve swallows and guiltily looks at his hands in his lap. He’s going to really need Thor’s help, since no-one else is strong enough to lift his weight like he needs right now. He’s going to need Thor to help him get in and out of bed, to get to the bathroom and clean himself. When his legs heal enough, he's probably going to need Thor’s help to learn to walk again, too, someone to lean on. Of course, he would be able to rely on just his arms if he had to, but by the time he could learn to depend on them alone, he’d be healed enough that it wouldn’t matter. So why bother trying? He’s got Thor to help him, and the demigod doesn’t look like he’s about to leave. Steve knows he can depend on his friend like this. He licks his lips. “I just...” 

He just wants to be self-sufficient. That’s all he ever wanted, especially in times of sickness, was to be able to take care of himself. But there were long periods of severe sickness where he couldn’t possibly, and he’d had to depend on Bucky. Now he has to depend on Thor, because he can’t walk. 

At least this will have a foreseeable end, and he’s not in too much pain. His legs will be almost healed by the time he can use them, so there’s that. Steve sighs and rubs his face. “It’s just kinda frustrating,” he admits roughly. 

“I understand,” Thor replies kindly. “I will do my best to stay out of your way-” 

“No.” Steve looks up, then bites his lip. Thor waits patiently for him to finish, so patient as always. He’s been there to help and watch out for Steve so often, and Steve’s not really noticed as much as he should. “No... I’m really glad you’re here,” he sighs and looks up, braving eye contact and glad for it when he does. 

Thor anchors him, giving him a friendly, charmed smile. “Whatever I can do, I will,” he confirms. “In this, or anything.” 

Has there ever been a more generous person? Steve reddens and smiles as the demigod goes off to make him something to eat. If he had to be stuck being taken care of by anyone, he’d pick Thor a thousand times over. There are no expectations from the thunder god. He can cry, hurt, be less than perfect and Thor hasn’t ever judged him for it or valued him less. He’s always been steadfast and calm. Just what Steve needs, someone willing to stick it out even if the soldier is deathly stubborn. 

Thor is back with grilled sandwiches that he’s made himself, and they’re really good. They eat, and Thor suggests TV when they finish. That’s a good idea. Steve doesn’t even mind when the demigod picks him up and carries him into the lounge to watch some crime shows on the flat screen. The couch is rearranged so he can lie propped in Thor’s lap, both men able to watch comfortably. Steve’s healing body calls him to rest, and he gladly allows it to take him away. 

\-- 

Steve needs Thor’s help for almost everything. The demigod runs him baths and carries him into them, then carries him out again when he’s done and helps him get dry and dressed. He cooks, or brings in food that is ordered for them. Mostly, the rest of the team gives them privacy, but they’re worried, and they care, so they occasional stop by to visit. Steve can’t even get out of bed and into his wheelchair, though Thor always keeps it where he can reach. Maybe if the bed weren’t so high, he could sit in it and drag his legs after him, but it’s too far down, and he’s afraid he’ll fall and not be able to get back up. That would be worse. 

Thor is too good, it’s not possible. He never tires, always happy just to pick Steve up like he always does and take him where they need to go. It becomes routine, because Thor _makes_ it routine, giving no comment, just starting a conversation and casually carrying on with it as he scoops up the Captain with all his usual grace and strides off. 

Of course, the team arranges a gathering like they usually do, and invite up their two bunking companions. It’s been two days since Steve left the med bay, and he can sort-of move his legs, but they won’t hold his weight. He’ll have to ask Thor to carry him all the way up, or sit in his wheelchair instead. He’s not sure which he prefers. 

In the end, Thor decides for him, sliding a pair of slippers onto his feet and draping an arm across his shoulders. He helps Steve scoot off the bed and sit in his wheelchair, guiding his feet onto the footrests as the soldier tries to shakily guide them over. Without asking, Thor takes him out of their suite, and into the elevator. Steve fidgets with his hands in his lap, already hot with shame. Even hobbling along with Thor’s help would be slightly better than this, bearable even. To his relief though, the others are clustered around the kitchen counter helping to lay out food, or busy organizing the seating area. By the time they’ve settled, Thor has already set Steve on the couch next to him. It’s almost like normal, and he’s at least able to sit tall and straight. Thor’s arm is pushed against his in support, and they sit like that to eat and play board games and have a good time. 

When it’s time for bed, Thor waits until the others are up and busy cleaning before he picks Steve up again and eases him back into his wheelchair. All this moving around is making his back ache, but it’s been worth it – it was good to spend time with his friends. 

Falling asleep is easier than usual, with his body working hard to heal itself. Thor tucks him into bed as he has done these past couple of nights, and crawls in beside him without a care. He’s content, glowing even, and more than usual. He seems the opposite of bothered by all this. Steve shuts his eyes and sleeps on that thought. 

\-- 

It’s hard to remember that just because he can move his legs doesn’t mean he won’t still need help. A few days in, and he’s got his arms draped across Thor’s and Bruce’s shoulders, the demigod holding all his weight while his shuffles one foot forward, then the next, with Bruce nudging them forward with his own foot. His legs won’t hold him up, but Steve reckons they might tomorrow. He lies patiently still for Bruce and another couple of specialists to examine his back and legs, to do more x-rays. Thor is with him the whole time to guard him and help him get from one table to the next. 

By the time it’s all over, and Thor is wheeling him weary and sweaty back to his room, he doesn’t want to be touched. Steve tries to haul himself into bed before Thor can reach out to help, but his legs are too weak to push him up, and he can’t quite claw himself up the duvet. 

“Steve,” Thor stills him and wraps the soldier’s arm around his neck. “Let me help you,” he lifts Steve out of the chair and helps him sit on the bed, then turn and lie down. Steve barely tolerates it, wanting nothing more than to shove his friend away but knowing he needs the support. 

He lies there and pants while Thor takes off his shoes and helps him get comfortable. The prince must have noticed the soldier’s annoyance because his touches are briefer, and he quickly pulls away when he’s finished and steps back, fidgeting like he still wants to help. Steve winces and growls with clenched teeth and adjusts his position a little, feeling sweaty and warm with irrational anger. He hurts, and hot water would really help. He needs a bath, but he can’t bring himself to ask for Thor’s help getting there. 

The door shuts, and Thor has left the room. Steve sighs and lets his head sink into the pillows, clutching the covers and gritting his teeth. All Thor wants to do is help, but now he’s gone, and the room feels emptier than it ever has. _Come on, Rogers. Sort yourself out. This isn’t permanent. And it’s better than trying to drag yourself around pathetically, isn’t it?_ It is, and he knows it in his heart, undeniably, because as infuriating as it is to need anyone’s help, Thor is so relaxed about it all that Steve’s not so bothered with displaying weakness in front of him. 

It’s too late now – Thor's gone – but Steve needs that bath, so he pushes himself sitting and carefully lifts his legs off the duvet one at a time, planting his feet on the floor. He’s too weak to stand, but if he aims right, he can get himself into his wheelchair. Maybe... It’s a bit far down (curse these high beds). Deciding it’s worth a try, Steve pushes himself forward with his arms and turns, sliding off the edge and down into his wheelchair. He lands a bit heavily, and winces as the impact jars his healing back, but he’s done it. The bathroom isn’t far. How on Earth is he supposed to get in and out of the tub though...? It’ll be harder to get out, especially since he’ll be wet... Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. 

“Thor....?” Steve calls softly, licking his lips and watching the door with a racing heart. “Thor, are you there?” 

There’s a shuffle of feet, and Thor is there, bursting into the room. “Steven?” He stares down with concern. 

Steve plays with his hands in his lap. “Sorry...” he whispers. “Can you help me...? I... could really use a bath... Not sure I can really do it...” 

“Of course,” Thor smiles kindly, striding in and quickly covering the distance to the bathroom. His features have considerably brightened, and Steve smiles to himself at the demigod’s eagerness to help. 

In moments, the water is running, and Thor emerges with his sleeves rolled up. He kneels by the wheelchair and calmly brushes Steve’s hands aside, unzipping his jeans and working them down. Steve grabs the arm rests and pushes himself up so his pants can be slid off, then sitting and taking off his shirt. Thor doesn’t blink or pause, taking off Steve’s boxers too, leaving all the soldier’s clothes in a neat pile on the bed. 

Thor’s culture around modesty is a bit different, or so Steve would surmise by how nonchalantly Thor picks up the soldier’s naked body without batting an eye and carries him to the bath, as the demigod has done several times now. Steve can only shift his hands to cover himself, but Thor’s so casual that it’s not necessary. It’s not like Steve’s never been naked in front of other men before either, being in the army. And Thor is a warrior too, well used to getting the job done and not being a prude about it when there other things to worry about. Besides, it’s just another body. What’s weird about that? 

Steve feels very safe to be naked and up against Thor’s chest. It’s a special sort of vulnerable, the kind that makes you feel safer despite all your layers stripped away, simply because you _can be_ that core layer of yourself. He can bleed in Thor’s arms, show how tired he is while the serum uses all his strength to heal him. He can show that it hurts, though Thor is equally careful no matter how much Steve tries to hide. 

The bath is amazing. The water is perfectly hot when Thor lowers him in. With haste, Thor pulls a towel he’s already rolled off the counter and pushes it behind Steve’s head. Then he hands over a cloth and straightens. Steve reaches out to grab his friend's shirt. “Thor...?” he looks up. Thor immediately reverses course and settles to the floor, sitting on the bath mat and leaning an elbow on the edge of the tub. He smiles invitingly. “I’m really sorry,” Steve whispers. “You’re just tryin’a help, and I didn’t mean...” 

Thor takes Steve's hand and lays his other over top, giving it a firm, reassuring pat. His smile is so bright, so endlessly forgiving, filled with centuries’ worth of patience. “All is well,” the demigod assures. “I know you are as frustrated as I would be in your shoes, and I admire your strength throughout this. It is my honor, and my great pleasure to offer you my support. I, nor any of the others think less of you, and you are no burden.” 

Steve called it a long time ago, but sometimes it strikes him how observant Thor is, how attune to his surroundings and the people in it. He blushes a little and can’t help a smile. “Thanks... This would be a real pain without you.” The only person who’d have been able to carry him would be Tony with his suit, and as much as Steve likes his friend, he’d just rather have Thor in these weak moments. Thor won’t make jokes at his expense, is so much more relaxed and casual about it all. 

Something takes over Thor’s smile, turns it softer, and one hand is lifting off Steve’s to reach out and brush at a lock of hair flopping across the soldier’s steamed face. 

“You got candles hidin’ around here somewhere?” Steve laughs from his chest, flustered and a little confused, but happy. His own willingness to go along with this takes him by surprise, but then, Thor is full of surprises. 

Thor blushes a bit himself, seeming to catch himself in the act but not stopping. He strokes his knuckles up and down Steve’s cheek, and now the soldier is very aware that he is _very_ naked. “I am thankful for your durability,” Thor says quietly, with a weight of long-suffering worry and perhaps a glaze of sadness. “You are one of the most skilled warriors I have ever had the pleasure of fighting beside. We all make mistakes, but I am grateful that you can almost certainly walk away from all of them.” 

Steve isn’t sure what to think, or what to say, only that he’s touched, and warmed in a way that hot water will never manage. “You really worry about me...?” Rarely does he not feel defensive in the face of such a proposition – _I don’t need you, or anyone to worry about me. I’m fine. I can take care of myself –_ but Thor’s worry has such a different flavor that that little voice in his head simply has no room to speak. 

“Sometimes,” Thor smiles a bit bashfully. “Though I trust your strength, it is perhaps your lack of self-preservation that I call into question, but even that is born of a desire to protect, which I cannot dismiss. You do what you must, and what you can, which is more than can be said for a great many people. My true worry is that you do not care enough for yourself.” 

Nobody likes being called out, but this time Steve actually smiles a bit brighter, slightly embarrassed, but beaming with something not unlike pride. “S’what I got friends for, to take care of me when I need it.” 

“Indeed,” Thor’s smile is slight, but no less flavored. He’s leaning quite far over the edge of the tub, so close... Steve winces as he pushes himself closer, turning so he can erase the distance between them. Gently, Thor shakes his head and straights him, pushing him back and coming to kiss his lips very slowly. Steve takes it, parting his lips and letting his head fall heavily into Thor’s supportive hand. Hands that have taken care of him before stroke through his hair, and hold him like he’s never been held. 

Not true. Thor’s held him lots. 

“You need not worry about troubling me,” Thor murmurs against Steve's lips, drawing back just enough to make eye contact. “It is my pleasure.” 

Steve has nothing to say to that. All he can do it lick his tingling lips and nod. His mouth is warm. 

“Get clean,” Thor suggests. “I’ll make something to eat, and we can have dinner.” 

That sounds really nice. Steve smiles back in agreement, and takes up his washcloth. Lost in another world, he cleans himself from top to bottom. It feels much better to be clean. Soon the whole suite is filled with the smell of cooking meat, and he can hear the lovely bubbling sound of sauce in a pan. Thor isn’t long. He pulls the plug and slides his arms under Steve’s body, lifting him gracefully out of the tub and carrying him to bed. 

“Can you dress?” he asks quietly, laying Steve on some towels he’s already spread across the bed. There’s a pile of clean folded clothes on the pillow beside him. Steve nods. Thor takes his face and kisses his forehead. “I will only be a moment.” 

The demigod leaves the room to finish up, and Steve starts to dry off. The pillows are stacked high enough that he doesn’t have too far to prop himself so he can reach his ankles, and though bending that far hurts, he manages. Impeccably timed, Thor returns when Steve is barely dried and dress, approaching the bed with outstretched hands. 

“Do you feel up to another walk?” he suggests, helping Steve to sit and already pulling an arm across his shoulders. 

Eagerly, Steve nods, and Thor helps him to turn very slowly and lower his feet to the floor. Steve’s legs are still too weak to hold him, but that bath has loosened them, and he’s able to shuffle them forward better. With Thor to guide and support him, he manages to limp his way out of the room and into the kitchen, one wobbly step at a time. Maintaining a slow pace, he makes it to the kitchen without breaking a sweat this time, but his legs and back are sore from their exercises earlier, and he collapses into the chair. 

The lights are dimmed, and there are candles on the table. “Where’d you find those?” Steve asks quietly, fairly certain he doesn’t keep candles in his suite. 

“I managed to find some,” Thor shrugs, sliding into the seat across from him. “Believe it or not I sometimes I enjoy a candle for myself. A little touch of home, I suppose.” 

It’s the right balance of romantic and silly. Steve’s chuckling and blushing at once, charmed. “I was only joking about the candles...” 

“Do you like them...?” Thor’s eyebrows turn upward as he starts to dish out their dinner. 

“Yeah. I really do. Kinda reminds me of the war...” Steve leans his cheek into his hand and smiles, watching the flame flicker. Fire gives off a much warmer light to a bulb, physical heat aside. Its glow feels more real, and the dance of a flame is soothing. “We used to have lamps. No electricity out on the front lines, not for that sort of thing... I didn’t need much light to see by anyway, but the glow was nice.” 

Thor watches him with soft eyes reflecting the light and glowing brightly with their own fire, and perhaps a burst of crackling lightning too. He nudges a plate of pasta over and lays one in front of himself. “You are much improved,” he notes cheerfully. 

“Good meal helps,” Steve admits. “This looks really good... I didn’t know you could cook like this.” It _tastes_ really good. 

Thor chuckles. “I confess this sauce is from a jar, but thank you.” 

“Complements to the chef,” Steve flicks an eyebrow and takes another bite. This is exactly what he needs: carbs and protein to fuel the serum. 

“I shall pass your regards on to mister Newman, then,” the demigod proclaims modestly, but he’s strained with pride and puffing out his chest. 

Steve laughs, and he feels at home. “Sure you’re a prince from outer space? Coulda fooled me. Seems to me like you’re a lot like these other Earth fellas... Candles, nice food... All you forgot was the wine.” 

“Romance on Asgard is as you have never known it,” the reply is half joking, half quite serious. “Oh, have I?” He pulls a flask from nowhere and unscrews the top, pouring it straight into a glass and passing it over. “A warrior cannot recover from battle without a drink to blur the edges of his suffering.” 

_Blurrin_ _’ those edges just fine on your own..._ Steve smiles and readily accepts the drink. It indeed does blur the edges of his deeply aching back and his sore legs, replacing it with a buzzing warmth in his chest. He drinks what Thor gives him. 

Dinner ends too quickly, but Thor leaves the soldier to finish the last mouthfuls so he can load the dishes into the sink and clean up a bit. That way, he can help Steve to bed, and stay there with him. Steve tries to walk, but he’s simply too worn out to do it even with Thor’s help. His poor legs need a break, one which is quickly afforded to them as the demigod scoops him up. He’s settled under the covers, and Thor climbs in with him, making sure the soldier is comfortable before wrapping his large body tightly around Steve’s. 

\---

6: The Charges Are Dropped

It takes Steve two weeks to be back to normal. Thor is with him, constantly at his side to help as much as is needed as he learns to walk again. It takes a bit of effort, but the serum does its job impeccably, and swiftly. Thor helps him when he’s too tired to walk much, stays nearby and simply offers his arm for Steve to use as much or as little as he wants when he does walk anywhere. The demigod always makes sure the wheelchair is nearby in case Steve needs to get somewhere, but the support he needs isn’t readily available (though it rarely isn’t). Thor feeds the serum, and though he’s not exactly a master chef, he can heat things up in a pot as well as anyone, and he’s got a natural intuition when it comes to spices. 

Sometimes Steve needs his space. Healing is always tough, especially when it restricts his independence like this, but Thor can tell when he just needs to get by on his own and leaves him to hobble along with his cane, or use his wheelchair instead if he’s really sore. Thor carries him in and out of the bath, sits with him and leans on the edge, and they just chat, or share a kiss, usually both. If the others organize games and dinner, they go. 

As always, Steve heals. In no time, he’s able to walk where he needs to go, albeit with a heavy limp. Shortly after that, his limp improves, then disappears altogether. He’s himself again, whole and strong, and he’s so glad. Feeling capable is all he wants. 

Thor’s moved back to his own room now, and Steve’s own suite is too quiet. Everything is back to normal, his morning routines, his bedtime. _Almost_ normal... The time spent with Thor is making him feel things that scare him, things he hasn’t felt in decades. Well, only a couple of years for him. But still, they’re sensations that frighten him, because they’re just as warm and promising as Peggy made him feel. There’s something young there, which has the potential to grow much richer. Steve’s not sure what will happen if he gives in and lets that flower take root, no matter how good it feels to have Thor beside him. 

As always, Thor seems aware of Steve’s hesitance, and though likes to keep close when the group gathers, he doesn’t press, despite his clear desire for more. Despising the disappointment and confusion in Thor’s kind eyes, Steve resolves to decide what he wants as quickly as he can, though he knows he at least doesn’t _not_ want what the god is offering. Oh, he wants it. He wants to be kissed and touched and made to feel good. Made to feel like he’s enough. Enough for what? Anything. 

Today he doesn’t feel good. He’s not hungry, and all his energy is drained away. He just wants to sleep, and wake up when he feels better, when he can focus and feel good about anything he does. The war feels so close sometimes, and he wonders how many more people he could have saved if he’d tried harder. 

Deep down he knows he did what he could, and that the serum allows that to be so much more than the average man could ever achieve. Everyone gave their all, and that’s what matters, not so much the result, but Steve can’t help but wonder if he could have done better. If he could have caught Bucky, found a way to land instead of crash that plane. All things that are foolish to think about, being long-gone and out of his hands, but he can’t help it. 

Everyone in the tower suffers from PTSD. Steve knows he could go to them for help, and that they would understand. They would help in any way they could, as he would do for them. That would be great, if he could bring himself to leave his room and ask. 

The day bleeds away, and he accomplishes exactly nothing, either sat staring at a blank sheet of drawing paper, or trying to sleep through nightmares and flashbacks. This will pass. He needs to tough it out. _Soldier on._

“Captain Rogers...” JARVIS’s voice sounds softer, but that might be his imagination. “The team is assembling for dinner. Will you be joining them?” 

Steve pulls his face out of his pillow and stares at the door as if a person were standing there. He swallows, the words ‘no thanks’ caught in his throat. In the end, he sits and plants his feet on the floor. “Okay,” he whispers in agreement. “I’ll be there.” Sitting with his friends will at least keep himself out of his own head, and... he thinks he needs a hug. Something warm to remind him he’s not alone, and not in the ice. Something grounding to hold him in this world. 

First though, he should get dressed. Steve changes into a clean shirt, then goes to the bathroom to make sure he doesn’t look horrendous. He’s passable. The others won’t pester him. The soldier slips on his hoodie and tries not to huddle too badly into it, walking out of his suite. Everyone is still filtering in, so he’s the first to sit, picking up the cards and shuffling them to keep busy. The second Thor’s weight settles beside him, radiating heat as he always does, it takes all his self-control not to just collapse sideways against the demigod. Solid as a rock, warm as a furnace, Thor nudges just a bit closer, like a dog sensing distress from his human. 

Eating and having fun with his friends definitely helps, anchoring his brain from spiraling him down to a place he needs to keep well away from. It’s not enough though, and he feels himself growing more desperate to find a warmth capable of blasting away the cold in his chest. He plays and laughs and manages to scrape together some semblance of okay-ness, but as soon as everything wraps up, that desperation claws harder, and he can barely contain himself, barely hold his composure as his throat starts to close. Everyone is leaving, but he needs them to leave a bit faster. When he turns, Thor is still there on the sofa beside him, casually shuffling the cards a few times before carefully arranging them back in the box like it’s the most important thing in the world. The last of their teammates vanish with mumbled ‘goodnight’s, and it’s just the two of them. 

They’re safe. Steve shivers and gives in, leaning sideways into Thor’s shoulder. The demigod sets down the cards and quietly wraps an arm around him, drawing him close. It’s just ‘one of those days’, and the prince entirely gets that because he’s not saying anything, not questioning, just holding strong and ready for what may be needed of him. Steve swings his legs onto the sofa and sets them across Thor’s lap, curling up as tightly as possible. Thor draws him in, holding him in place with his unwavering grip, huge arms not troubled at all by the size and weight of Captain America. He murmurs something comforting and kisses Steve’s hair. 

After a few minutes of just sitting there, the prince speaks. “What ails you?” he asks quietly. 

Steve sighs. “Just don’t feel good,” he admits, wiping his eyes but not daring to pull his head off Thor’s shoulder. This is a safe place, and he doesn’t want to get up. Maybe just this once he can be selfish. 

“What do you need?” 

_No clue..._ Steve shivers and buries closer, staring into the base of Thor’s neck as he thinks. 

“What do you want?” 

There, a question he can find an answer to. “Can...” Steve rasps. “Can you carry me?” There, he’s said it, handed over his admission and his need to be self-sufficient with it. Now, to wait. 

“You ask for very little,” Thor chuckles, sliding his arm under Steve’s knees and picking him smoothly off the couch. Steve tightly wraps his arms around the prince’s neck, shutting his eyes in surrender. The journey is short, and soon he finds himself in Thor’s bedroom, the prince dropping his arm from under Steve’s shoulders to pull back the covers. Steve hangs on, not letting go until Thor is supporting his back again and working his way under the covers. The god of thunder pulls the blankets around both of them and just holds on, pulling Steve’s head into his shoulder and stroking his hair with the same hand. With the other, he draws in the soldier’s knees and rubs his thigh with his thumb. 

Steve heaves a sigh. This is better. He smiles to himself, just a little one, and cracks open his eyes. He tips back his head and peers up into Thor’s steady gaze. “Kiss me?” he tries. 

“Gladly,” Thor smiles softly and leans in, letting go of Steve’s leg to cup his chin and angle his face. Soft lips lined with bristle slip around his. Fear rears its head again, but Steve ignores it, and lets it boil away to nothing as Thor kisses him. He feels good, and lets himself have that which is being given. Thor gives generously, and willingly, with joy and good grace. The least Steve can do is accept with the same. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll let the god of thunder carry him again. Maybe he’ll even ask. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there we are. I hope very much to draw some Thor-carrying-Steve, 'cus in my opinion, that's some good shit right there. You can find me on [tumblr](https://stormyandrescuer.tumblr.com/), where I post lots of artwork :)
> 
> Again, I welcome ideas and feedback as always! My next long fic is going to be a little different, and a bit darker, and I look forward to seeing you there! I've already started some drawings for it.
> 
> Thanks again, and stay safe <3


End file.
